Participants:
| Scene Title | Oil and Cloth |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Noah Bennet and his team take a journey overseas to secure very valuable possessions… |
| Date | August 19, 2010 |
Frost collects around the edges of roughly rectangular windows. Through the thick layers of glass, asphalt comes closer and closer, until eventually the squeak of tires on tarmac scuffs noisily beneath the vibrating floor of this creaking old plane. Overhead, mesh netting carries a handful of pieces of luggage, a few backpacks and duffelbags all strapped secure above. Plastic shipping crates with combination locks, cardboard boxes and wooden crates of all shapes and sizes fill the back of this forty-year old cargo plane.
Cages towards the front of the vehicle reek of wildlife and the clucking noise of caged chickens has filled the air for the better part of four hours now. Touching down on the tarmac the old aircraft rattles and clatters, the propellers roaring and winding down as the old vehicle comes to a lurching stop. Outside those frosted windows in the dark of night, the glow of city lights shines jaundiced on the horizon under a pall of drizzling rain falling from the sky.
The door to the front of the plane creaks open, and standing silhouette by the interior lights of the cockpit, a tall and well-dressed man in an ink black suit and a button-down wool trenchcoat stares silently past the crates and boxes and to more precious cargo tucked away near sleeping bags and bedrolls.
"Welcome to Russia," is offered to the back of the plane, where dark figures sit in the lightless cabin. Turning his head just enough to let light reflect off of the lenses of distinctive horn-rimmed glasses, Noah Bennet offers a stern expression to the individuals stowed away in this Short 360 cargo plane.
St. Petersburg, Russia
1:34 am Local Time
The journey from Buffalo, New York in the United States to Reykjavik, Iceland and across the Atlantic to Tromso, Norway and finally St. Petersburg, Russia has been long, cold and quiet.
"Get your things together," Noah offers to the passengers on his way through the back, weaving around clucking chickens in their cages to start unfastening a single duffelbag down from the mesh overhead. "We're meeting with an old friend of mine out on the tarmac, he's going to drive us out to my safehouse by the waterfront… I promise when we get there, you'll get all your questions answered."
Noah Bennet has been burning favors left and right since the group left the United States, making painstaking efforts to stay as far off the grid with this trip as possible. Not even the Ferrymen Council was briefed on this assignment, and Noah took only volunteers. While two of the Council's membership are present, the others have no idea what is transpiring out here in western Russia.
Or at least, most of them don't.
There's always a Plan B.
Getting to her feet, Cat turns the flashlight she's carrying off and grabs two items. One is a standard duffel bag, the other a backpack. Both are slung across shoulders; while they don't seem particularly light she's obviously got enough strength in her 1.73 meter tall body to carry them unassisted. Noah's given a nod as he speaks, she murmurs "It's Friday now. 01:35 local time."
Lashirah pulls down her duffel bag down from the mesh, slinging it over her shoulder. A sturdy leather jacket, heavy jeans, and heavy duty boots make up her wear. Notably different is her hairstyle, which is pulled back into a pony tail, and the absolute lack of her normal punk rock attire. She yawns a bit and looks to Ryans… he trusted these people, somewhat. Which means she had to trust, for now.
Socked feet slipped into Keds, the lone blonde that is Abigail- if you didn't count Noah - has been quiet. Transportation by cargo ship not being her regular fare, plane or teleporter the usual suspects. Lashirah was the only person she didn't know and had been kind enough to introduce herself to the woman and a friendly if not so perky greeting for Ryans. But she's up with the rest once the all clear is given, working hard and fast to gather her hiking pack filled with all and sundry medical supplies she'd need in case of gunshot wound or worse, and an overnight with her clothes. Jeans, grey zip up hoodie, white long sleeve beneath, it's cheap - for a reason.
Already on his feet, Ryans stands stoically, the fedora on his head and trench coat draped around his form. He wears a pair of nice dark brown slacks and a maroon dress shirt, no tie present as always. As faint light spills in from the door, his hand is at his back, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. Once he hears the familiar voice, Ben's hand falls away, the coat falling back into place. Bending down, her grips the duffel bag at his feet, before straightening. "Bennet." The name said in greeting.
He's tired, unable to relax the whole flight. He knows a little bit of what was expected, but not enough for him to truly be comfortable. He trusts Bennet at least. He'll wait for the ladies to move out before him, only then will he depart. His momma at least taught him manners.
On getting his single bag, Noah swings it over his shoulder and makes his way to the hatch door of the plane, pulling out the handle and twisting it with a creak of protesting metal, and as the door is pushed open, one foot kicks a release that sends metal stairs clattering down to the rainy tarmac. "Hopefully you all had a little time to get acquainted on our trip?" Noah asks over his shoulder before stepping out into the cold rain.
Summer in St. Petersburg isn't at all like summer in New York. The air is bitterly cold like a fall morning, and just past 1 AM the dark skies and gentle breeze accent the feeling of chill. Stepping down the stairs and down onto the tarmac, water beads on Noah's wool coat and his shoulders hunch forward reflexively. Looking back over his shoulder and up at the plane's stairs, water glitters on the lenses of his glasses and spots his vision.
Stretching out once she's on the tarmac, Cat uses scant words in replying to the man in horn rimmed glasses. "We had the opportunity, yes." To what extent she keeps to herself, but she does seem to at lwast know the names of the two agents with them. Regardless of how much, or little, they shared Cat isn't yet about to reveal she's the secret boss of Delia Ryans.
Lashirah is glad she dressed for the weather… and had the foresight to look ahead. She smiles a moment at Ryans and shrugs at Noah's question. She didn't care to say anything to it. She keeps her eyes alert… a person to look for details that don't fit right. Or fit too well. So far, so good.
Rain. She had rain the other day. It hurt. That blonde wrinkles her nose as she digs for a windbreaker to wear over her hoodie so as to keep it relatively dry, unhooking pack to wriggle into it, then on goes the pack again. Then it's following Noah and the others, out into the last place that she had ever thought she would willingly return to. Her ankle twinges, not so much a physical thing as it is a mental thing, remembered and with shoulders squared and hood up, Abigail goes.
Spots of rain, darkening the brown fedora as Benjamin Ryans ducks through the door into the chilly rain. The sound of the drops hitting his duster is a calming sound in his ears. He stands at the top of the stairs for a moment, looking out over the night darkened tarmac, blue eyes narrow in thought.
He glances at Cat as she speaks and he nods slowly, even though he hadn't talked much about the Company or his own family issues, they at least had things to chat about. His head turns to Lashirah, and he starts down the metal stairs, listening to the sound the soles of his leather shoes make on the metal.
Ths airstrip on the fringes of St. Petersburg could be anywhere in the world at the moment, it could be New York in the fall at some upstate airfield. It's only under scrutiny of the white airplane with rust streaking from its rivets, to the stenciled red Cyrillic writing on the side of the vessel that implies anything is out of the ordinary.
Headlights coming up the tarmac stands out to everyone, though Noah seems as calm as usual on catching the glare on his glasses. The matte gray van that approaches the plane has a mess of Cyrillic writing on the side and the picture of a package with wings on it, likely some kind of parcel delivery service.
Pulling up alongside the people standing off the plane, the truck comes to a rolling stop. The driver's side door opens and out comes a blue umbrella and a short, bearded man in a zippered denim jacket. "Dobroye utro!" is cheerfully offered from the stubbled man with a wave of his hand, brown eyes alight with good spirits.
Though he's speaking Russian the darkly tanned man under the umbrella looks Indian judging from his features. "Back door of truck is not lock," is more English than before, though only marginally. "Noah Bennet it has been ages, you look good! Old man wears glasses now, eh?"
Smiling faintly, Noah lifts one hand from his pocket and adjusts the frames of his glasses, then looks down to the man with the umbrella. "This is Andrei," is offered for the others, "he's our ride." No comment at all about the old man joke, probably for the best too.
"Spasibo, Andrei," Cat offers pleasantly if tiredly to the man from the truck to which back door is not lock, as she moves to demonstrate that fact firsthand and stow gear inside, then get in. Once inside she moves her items so as to provide as much space as possible for the others following, then slides the hood down off her head. She's dressed for cooler weather, but not thickly. Perhaps time spent in Antarctica proper and Yorkarctica have totally revised her take on what is and isn't truly cold.
Lashirah slides into the vehicle after Cat does, stowing her bag tight to her side, leaving room for the others to get in. She curls up and tries not to yawn. It's been a long flight and notably lacking in her normal source of go-power: liquid caffeination. She reaches into her pocket, and pulls out one of a hoarded set of chocolate covered expresso beans… then tilts her head, and digs out a second, offering one to Cat. "Something to chew on while we go?"
Cat can do the greeting and testing of the door and the moment that Lash and Cat have slid in, stowing bags and making themselves company, the blonde is too, opting to settle her stuff on her lap instead of sitting on it, chin resting atop the hiking pack with a glance to the others before letting her eyes close so she can listen.
A corner of Ryans' mouth pulls up at the corner of the old man comment aimed at the younger man in this rag tag group. Not that the guy in the parcel truck knows that. His head shifts to one side a bit to send that amused look Noah's way. He doesn't say much, not liking that he's out in the open, despite Noah's relaxed nature, the old man can't relax.
Bag in hand, he moves with stiff and quick steps, towards the back door of the truck. His hand grabs the side of the truck and he glances at the others, waiting for them to get in. Only then will he folds his tall form into the vehicle.
The back of Andrei's truck is largely empty, a pair of bench seats on either side facing each other and ample floor space for the passengers belongings. Rainwater is tracked all over the floor before anyone else has even gotten in, making it evident that someone else was here, even if briefly. Outside in the falling rain, Cat, Abigail, Lashirah and Ryans can see Noah and Andrei conversing under the umbrella's blue fins, rainwater sheathing off in glittering droplets around their sheltering cover.
Something is slipped out of Noah's pocket, likely money, and folded into Andrei's hand with a handshake. The two lean in close and exchange words, and not a moment later is Noah jogging around the van from the front, coming to round the back and climb inside, pulling the doors shut and moving to take a seat on the bench beside Ryans. "Andrei is going to be taking us to a safehouse I've been maintaining here in St. Petersburg for a few years now…"
Sliding off his glasses, Bennet wipes the water off of each lens, and Andrei quietly folds his umbrella closed as he climbs back into the van and brings the door shut. With the engine still running, the sensation of the van jerking into motion is readily felt. With no side or back windows, only a narrow view thorugh the windshield is afforded to the passengers, and a shadowed view of the side of Andrei's face.
"Before we get there, however, I think it's about time I tell you why we're here." Hunching forward on the bench seat, Noah rests his forearms over his knees, turning his glasses over in his hands as he asks, "How many of you have heard of a man named Isaac Mendez?"
"I have," Cat states, "he had a studio in the city. I've been there a few times." Eyes are settled on Benner, she's clearly curious what if any of the man's works are stored in this Russian city and what events they perhaps foretell.
Lashirah shakes her head as she listens, indicating not being familiar with the name off the top of her head. She leans back to listen thoughtfully.
"Ashes to Ashes," Abigail speaks up, cracking open her eyes. "It hangs in my bedroom at the Rivage. Does this have anything to do with the message that… Mister Spektor had me deliver to you just after Christmas?" Well, more like, to his wife, than to him directly. Abigail owns an Issac Mendez painting, might be strange to some, unless they actually saw the painting. "He was a pre-cognitive who used painting, art, as his medium." See, she does pay attention at times.
Shoulder bump into Noah's as they start forward, Ryans' hand reaching up to pull the fedora off his head and run fingers through his hair to make it lay somewhat again. It holds it in both hands atop the bag set between his legs, as they bump along.
The mention of Mendez has Ben's eyebrows lift in recognition, but since the girls have pretty much said what was needed too, the older man doesn't respond with more then a nod of his head.
There's a nod to Cat, but an appreciative smile to Abigail when she relays the information about Isaac's gift and the connection to Ivan's message. "It's related…" Noah admits with a worried furrow of his brows, sliding the glasses on. "Isaac Mendez was a talented precognitive, as Abigail said. A painter, capable of portraying visions of the future on canvas. However, Isaac is only one of many such precognitives who use physical art as a medium."
"For decades, the Company has been collecting works of prophetic art. Some went into the personal collection of Daniel Linderman, as was the majority of Isaac's work. But a collection of prophetic pieces done by Isaac early on in his career were brought to the attention of the Company by his father Carlos Mendez, whom happened to be one of the twelve founders of the organization." Creasing his brows, Noah folds his hands in his lap.
"I'd only come to learn of Isaac's connection to the Company within the last few months, around the same time I learned about this collection of Isaac's called the series of eight." Hunching his shoulders forward, Noah looks down to the floor of the van. "These paintings supposedly detail a sequence of events that have yet to come to pass. Added to the vast wealth of other prophetic paintings, they could prove to be a valuable road-map to the future for anyone in possession of them."
Looking up to Ryans, then around to the others in the van, Noah begins to seem more restless, plucking a piece of lint from his wool coat at the thigh. "I learned that an old aquaintance of Benjamin and I and a former ally of Abigail's named Ivan Spektor was in possession of these paintings to safeguard them for the Company. After Ivan sent that message to me, I felt that he might be trying to warn me that the paintings aren't safe here anymore…"
"Isaac Mendez also authored a comic book series," Cat provides when Bennet's information concludes, "copies of which I made it a point to acquire. Surprisingly enough, they weren't hard to find." Not elaborating on anything predicted therein, however, she opts to focus on the series of eight. "Is it imperative the Institute not be permitted to get their mitts on any of these works, Noah? If so, we could photograph the originals and destroy them afterward. Above and beyond that," she remarks with a slight smile forming, "I'm certain I'd never forget if I saw them."
Lashirah frowns. "Why are the paintings not safe any longer?" She asks simply. "And what's the plan to secure them?" She has a completely businesslike tone, which doesn't match her relaxed posture at all. She lets her face remain a poker face.
Cat advocates destroying them. Abigail can think of a) A few people who would vehemently object to such a thing and a b) desire to get their hands on such a thing. There's more, to the story, she's sure and so the blonde remains hunkered down in her spot on the bench with her arms around her bags.
"Wonderful." Ryans rumbles softly, not sounding at all happy about it. He's dealt with precogs before, he had to watch one — that saved his life even — die after he helped rescue the girls. "I take it that the Institute's… or possibly the government's sites are set on these painting?" A single twitches up as he regards the man next to him.
"We know — if the June visions mean anything — they hold value in the abilities of precognitives, so it's not surprising that they would want these paintings." There is not much of a reaction from the man, though he goes a bit colder at the thought of these painting getting into the hands of the enemy — so to speak.
There'a a succinct nod to Cat from Noah at her suggestion of a plan. "You read my mind, Chesterfield. I'm worried about anyone getting their hands on these paintings, and I'm hoping that we be able to record them down in a way that we can convey the information to our allies. But as it stands right now, if we have to destroy them before even seeing them to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands, I'd still call that a victory."
"As far as why they aren't safe, I'm hoping Ivan can tell me more. He sent me a worrying message several months ago, and I've been receiving communications for a while now about a destabilization of the Company in light of increased pressure by the Institute. It's possible that Ivan just wants them moved somewhere else. As of right now, I don't have a clear plan on how to transport them, since I'm not sure how many there are, or where they're being kept."
Looking briefly to Ryans, Noah's brows furrow, and when he looks back around the interior of the van his tone is somewhat more grim. "To make matters worse, I haven't contacted Ivan to let him know we're in the country yet. That he's moved from his home in Ryazan out here to St. Petersburg means that he didn't feel safe, and the less potential I put out there for anyone to find out about this mission the better. Ivan, Ryans and I… have a bit of a history, and given that I abandoned the Company it's a tenuous one. We're… both his students."
"If it comes to that, Noah," Cat suggests in even tones, "I can both see and destroy them at the same time. If it isn't possible to take photos beforehand, they'll still be in my head, and can be reproduced as image files later. I'm very curious now as to what sort of road signs these works provide. Does anyone else know they exist?" She goes quiet for a moment.
"As for Ivan, I can't be certain why he moved, but if I were to guess it'd be a result of being in the same city as Vanguard leftovers after last winter's affair. He knew Carlisle Dreyfus for years, had no idea of his Vanguard ties, and may well have been in danger much as Abby and I were when he and Skoll followed us back."
"Don't destroy them. It's art. Doesn't matter that they'll stay in Cat's head, they're still art and their value is very real, even if what's portrayed in them comes to pass. Eight of them, split them up. Split them up and scatter them to the ends of the world, surely between all of here, we have that capability, instead of keeping them in one spot."
There's a glance to Cat. "No offense, but if you look at them, we destroy them all, and then the institute manages to get a hold of you and goes through your mind with a fine tooth comb, Cat, it's just the same as if they had the paintings. So even you seeing them all, is dangerous."
Ryans' head nods slowly as Noah continues, a small hint of a smile breaking that neutral look at the mention of his old teacher. Cat's words, however, grab the old agent's attention and he glances her way, brows furrowing. However, he doesn't speak til after Abby. "Art or not, if it comes down to it… whether Cat…" The name seeming not to fit right for the agent. "…sees them or not, if we have to. It's better to destroy them then to allow them to fall into the wrong hands.
"That sort of knowledge in the wrong hands would be devastating." Ryans shakes his head slowly. "When it comes down to it, no place is really safe, can only do your best." He glances at Bennet with a possibly amused look, hard to tell. "Unless there is a dark hole you can toss them down."
"Preferably, I want the paintings intact. But what I want and what is feasible don't always coincide. I'd sooner destroy the lot of them than let them fall into the Institute or Messiah's hands… or even Richard Cardinal's hands. There's too many people I can't trust out there, too many people who would use whats' on these paintings to control the outcome. I've seen it done before and I know it will happen again. But if I can stop this information from falling into the wrong hands, I will, and I hope we're all on the same page at that."
Rubbing his hands together, then bringing them up to his mouth to breathe a warm breath on, Noah looks up to Ryans. "If we can get the paintings out of the country, then I'll worry about where to sotre them, but it won't be together. I can't risk an individual source being compromised and losing access to them. We won't be leaving the same way we came in, and after we meet with Ivan I'll explain a little more about that."
"First, Abby, they'd have to actually catch me," Cat replies with a slow smile forming, "and after that I've confidence in being able to hold off telepathic probing. I've a lot more information to flood a questing mind with, and quite an imagination of horrors to show such a person. Helena Dean held off the one who tormented her for months and would've continued to if necessary, I'm confident I can match that performance." It's not a bragging tone she uses to make that assertion, but a calm and coolly confident voice.
"That said, it may be necessary to control the outcome, depending on what that outcome is. If someone had shown me a painting of Kazimir Volken releasing Shanti virus, I don't doubt we'd all agree on controlling that result. But if it concerns someone using the painting for personal advantage, to gain power, that can't be allowed." Bennet's features are studied, she seeking to determine if they seem on the same page.
Lashirah nods. "… First things first… find the paintings. We figure out what to do with them after that… and hope we don't have too much trouble with the first step." She sighs.
Sure sounds like bragging if you're used to everything that comes out of Cat's mouth as cool and confident. It's Ryans' question though that ultimately turns Abby's gaze onto him and keeping Abby from a comment on the tip of her tongue about something in Cat's direction. Black. Hole.
"There is." A small smile forming on her face.
"We do have a deep dark black hole that they can be tossed into that unless you know how to get to it, get into it… you won't be getting them." Noah knows too, Cat likely. "We get them away from here, we can put them into a deep dark hole indeed or at least, the more dangerous important ones."
"Wise." Ryans murmurs, his head nodding slowly. "A small part of the picture being lost is better then the whole." Taking a deep breath, Ryans lets it out in a long soft sigh of thought. "Trying to control any outcome is a tricky thing… and can end up resulting in exactly the thing you are trying to stop." His blue eyed gaze flicks to Cat briefly, no doubt the Company has done its share of that.
When Abby speaks, Benjamin's brows shoot up, since he had been joking really. "Huh…" It all he manages for a long time. "Well…" he starts after a moment longer, "Then that's something." His expression mildly impressed, though he has some faith in Bennet, knowing something can be done, and what it could be, is a small comfort.
"Like Agent Lee said, we'll worry about what to do with the paintings once we find them," Noah agrees in his own way. Outside, the van has rounded a corner, and through the windshield the side of a massive tanker ship can be seen before the van turns a corner, passing through an insudtrial wharves area filled with old warehouses. "We're here," Noah explains with a hunch of his shoulders forward, and the van takes a slow right turn, then finally comes to a stop.
Noah goes forward to the cab of the van, leaning between the seats. "Spasibo, Andrei," Bennet quietly offers, then claps a hand down on the driver's shoulder and looks back to those in the rear of the van. "Head on out and stay in the alley we're parked in. There's a fire escape outside that should have the stairs pulled down already, we'll head up into the loft that way."
"First in, last out," Cat remarks, remaining still in her seat. Eyes track the vehicle's progress and study the building as best they can on arrival.
Lashirah smirks and picks her bag back up, popping another expresso bean into her mouth as they arrive at their destination. "let's find out what kind of place we have to work with for our hopefully short stay."
Docks, warehouses. Somehow, this does not put Abigail at ease, any kind of ease and it's painted easily on her face. Last time she was in a place like this, good things did not happen. But she waits, for Lash to get out, following behind the gothic company agent and to the alley as Noah instructed.
The fedora is settled back on his head gently when the announcement is made, making sure it's on snug. The smell of the close water, has him breathing in deep. It always brings back memories of a much younger time of his life. A time when he use to float in that vast deep water, with seemingly nothing around him. It always had a calming effect. He misses the teams sometimes.
Shifting out of the vehicle, Ryans straightens and gets a look around, before hooking his duffel bag over his shoulders for the journey up. "Interesting accommodations." He comments under his breath, head tilting back to trail a glance up the side of the building.
Ducking as he grabs his duffelbag and crawls out of the van, Noah steps down onto the street and squints behind the lenses of his glasses at the rain, staring up into the sky. "It's an old safehouse I used when I was here on business back in 1996," Noah explains quietly, "I haven't been here since then, but Claude and I never reported its location to the Company. He's the only other person who'd know where it is… and frankly, if I found him up here it might be the best surprise all day."
Headed to the black metal stairs that lead up to the loft, Noah begins quietly and slowly ascending the fire escape. There's no words of further parting for Andrei, only the soft clang of Noah's shoes as he makes his way up to the third floor. The exterior of the warehouse looks old, crumbling red brick crawling with ivy, black shingled roof with narrow windows on the third floor.
Coming up to one of those very windows, Noah wrestles with the window, then slides it open and steps inside, rainwater sliding off of him and into pools on the floor as he disappears inside the darkened building.
Out last and moving behind the group, Cat places the espresso bean granted earlier into her mouth and climbs the stairs, bags carried on her back. It's a temptation to ask for another bean, but one she resists. "I never could get Claude to try his beating with a stick training method on me," she muses idly. "Haven't seen the man in ages. Since he knows about this place, Noah, it makes me wonder if he might even be watching us." There's a sudden and swift halt to her steps, calculated to cause anyone following unseen to bump into her and be revealed.
"He can be bribed, with birdseed." There's a glance about, as if she might see him in the rain, the invisible man who saved her one christmas eve in the ruins of midtown and beat himself up because he waited for the right moment and she'd been hurt. She can hope he's there, but who knows. Up the ladder, somewhere in the heirarchy that enters into the warehouse with careful steps and clinging to her luggage.
Lashirah listens to the others talk, as she eyes up the building, before shrugging and begining her climb up after Noah… after all, there were no loud explosions or gunshots from his entry YET, so, odds are it was relatively safe to enter… relatively.
There is no comment about Claude right away. The old man has never been completely sure how he feels about the disappearing/reappearing man. Ryans does end up saying, however… "He never seemed the type to really settle into one place. He's probably living the posh life in some fancy hotel where he's managed to sneak into."
He waits till all the girls are heading up the metal stair well, before Ryans takes up the rear, eyes drifting around him, watching for anything suspicious. Hand grip the rail as he moves up the fire escape, ignoring the burn of his calves, since he's spent time in a cramped location for many… many hours.
Once at the top, he pulls the duffel off his back and settles it inside the window, before ducking inside. He's hoping that Claude isn't there.
Nothing bumps into Cat, save for raindrops.
On the way up the noisy stairs, the fire escape rattles and clatters, portions of it having come unbolted from the brickwork over the years. At the top of the fire escape and through the windows, the loft itself looks nominally comfortable. Walls painted a warm olive shade compliment the warm brown shade of the hardwood floor of whatever large room the fire escape emptied into. A smaller, adjacent room looks like it may have been a bedroom, and has many tall windows running along one wall.
Noah stands in the middle of the main room, looking down at a wooden chair that has been nailed to the floor. A few old and dusty construction lamps have been arranged around it, duct tape is still stuck to the legs and arms of the chair, and dark brown stairs litter the floor.
Sheepishly, Noah lifts up a hand and scrubs at the back of his neck, then slowly turns to look back at the others as they come in. "I'd… forgotten this was still here, I apologize." Then, without breaking stride, Noah motions over his shoulder to the smaller room behind him. "There's a working radiator in there, we can turn that on to keep out the cold. I'd recommend not turning on any lights for tonight. Come morning I'm going to need to get a lay of the city, and you'll all be free to get a feel for St. Petersburg and, should you feel like it, take in some of the local culture. Ideally we'll be meeting with Ivan the following day."
"I'm fairly familiar with St. Petersburg already," Cat remarks, "I took the time to look at some comprehensive maps and articles on the place." She eyes the chair without effect, torture chairs aren't in her experience. It's moved past without comment on the way to setting her gear down in some convenient place and taking a slow survey of the interior.
Fabulous decor Noah, who is your decorator?! It's so P-O-W chic! Olive is the new black and all the rage, at least here in St. Petersburg. Back home it's NBC white, don't you know? Abigail's rooted in spot, her knuckles white around the strap of her hiking pack and staring at the chair with its duct tape and the discoloration around it. It's a reminder that Noah's not the affable fuddy duddy that he comes off as at times.
Lashirah makes no comment at all about the decor on the walls. the CHAIR earns a raised eyebrow, however. "Huh. Old, yet preserved…" she says with a deattached air. Ryans would recongize the tone. She's used it on crime scenes often enough…
Duffel snatched up again, Ryans eyes fall on the chair in the middle of the room. No one can really read his features when he see's it. As a Company man, he's done his share of that and even been the subject of it. Comes with the territory… or at least use too. Different world then the one before the bomb. It's a bitter thought for the old man.
"That shouldn't be a problem." Ben rumbles, softly moving to take a glance into the small room, dropping his bag in there. Moving back into the main room, Ryans rests hands on the back of the chair, gripping the back of the chair lightly. Probably, not the best image, but he doesn't' exactly care. "I will probably crash here shortly." Not the whole truth, but he plans to try to get some sort of sleep.
"I'll leave come dawn, I'll stay up and keep an eye on this place while you get some rest, I managed to catch some sleep in the cockpit." Noah's eyes don't deviate from the chair right away, and when they do it's slow, the way a fly tries to peel itself away from honey. "Go get yourselves some rest, we've got a busy couple of days ahead of us. Remember, no one else knows about this location aside from us, so if you hear anyone else come in…" there's a raise of Bennet's brows slowly. "You know what to do."
Setting down his duffelbag beside the chair, Noah alks over to Ryans and slaps a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before he looks over to Lashirah, then Cat and Abby. "I appreciate the four of you coming together for this. I know it's not easy for the Ferrymen and the Company to work together, with our histories…" and Bennet's eyes track back to Ryans.
"I'd like to consider this a trial run," but a trial run for what, Noah isn't going to explain right now.